


Down to Brass Tacks

by amaradangeli



Series: Sam and Jack Weekly Oneshot Challenge Submissions [5]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 17:13:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1436341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaradangeli/pseuds/amaradangeli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Imprisoned?  Whatever.  Imprisoned in an otherwise sort of nice hovel with Sam Carter?  Okay, I’ve had worse prison experiences.  Imprisoned in an otherwise sort of nice hovel with Sam Carter while shackled to the wall, hands over my head?  Well, I don’t think the aliens have the same sorts of things in mind that I do." -Jack O'Neill</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down to Brass Tacks

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: I have no idea why some pieces come spilling out of me in first person. That almost never happens. Oddly, when it does, it’s when I’m writing something sexual from the male perspective. Because apparently my psyche likes to screw with me.
> 
> Also, in completely unrelated news, this piece has sexual stuff in it. And it’s written in first person. From Jack’s perspective.

“Sir,” she says in that careful way she has when she knows whatever she’s got to say is gonna piss me off.

“Out with it, Carter.”

She holds a pile of fabric out in front of her with shaking hands.  “I’m supposed to put these on you.”

“What is it?”

“Pants, I think.  And a tunic.”

I roll my eyes.  I can’t help it.  This day just keeps getting better and better.  Imprisoned? Whatever.  Imprisoned in an otherwise sort of nice hovel with Sam Carter? Okay, I’ve had worse prison experiences. Imprisoned in an otherwise sort of nice hovel with Sam Carter while shackled to the wall, hands over my head? Well, I don’t think the aliens have the same sorts of things in mind that I do.

“And how are you supposed to get those clothes on me? They give you the keys?” I rattle my wrists for good measure as if she doesn’t already know what I’m talking about.

She produces a long, dangerous looking knife. “I’m supposed to cut yours off and these…well, they tie, sir.”

She sets the pile of clothing down on the little table that fills one corner of the room and approaches me with the knife. Just as she’s about to slip the blade between my waist and blouse, I stop her.  “Before you get that blade next to my skin, you’re not holding any long standing grudges, are you?”

“No, sir.”  She smiles a little.  It’s kind of nice. She hasn’t smiled since they threw us in here, chained me to the wall, and ceremoniously stripped her down to her not-so-government issue skivvies.  Skivvies I’ve been gentleman enough not to mention.

But this up close and personal, as she’s carefully rending my uniform fabric with the edge of that blade, I notice I can see clear through parts of that fancy bra she’s wearing that’s more lace than substance and I wonder how much longer I can go without mentioning her unmentionables.

When she stands up on her tiptoes to reach up to my wrist, her breasts lift right up to my face and we find out exactly how far my restraint – and apparently professionalism – can stretch. “Nice bra, Major.”

“It’s not like I planned to be showing it off, sir,” she says with a huff.  Her breath travels past my ear but I feel it all the way down into parts I wish I didn’t considering I’m pretty sure she’s going to have to cut my pants off, too.

“Suddenly I don’t think those plain cotton jobbies are all about support.  Somebody, somewhere, had to have seen this coming.”

“Our being held captive on a planet hell bent on stripping us down to skin?  Yes, sir. I’m sure they envisioned these exact circumstances when designing the dress code.”

If it weren’t for all my attention being diverted to underwear I’d probably have something to say about her sarcasm. “I’m just saying I don’t think Daniel’s underwear would have been as…” _interesting, attractive, touchable, “_ lacy.”

She laughs and I get another face full of Carter-boob. “Watch those things, would you?”

She huffs.  “Sorry, sir.”

“Hey, I’m not saying they’re not nice. I’m just saying you’re gonna cut my pants off in a minute and I’d like it if weren’t as absolutely embarrassing as possible.”

“It gets worse, sir,” she says as she cuts a small slit in my t-shirt and then rips the fabric in two up to my armpit – and just for the record, a gorgeous blonde in underwear tearing off your clothing is exactly as hot as it sounds.

“Of course it does.”

“Your underwear has got to go, too.”

I groan.  “Seriously?”

“I’d offer to close my eyes while I cut them off, but…”

“No!  No! I’d rather lose my modesty than my—“

“Sir,” she warns.

“Well, you get the picture.”

“Yes, sir.”

She goes back to work, dropping to her knees in front of me.  Yeah, that’s not helping. “Carter, I’m just going to ask you now to relegate anything you see here to the same place we all put 595.”

“No promises, sir,” she says and looks up while flashing me a grin.  Yep. Carter, eyelevel with my waistband and sporting a cocksure grin?  Definitely not helping.  The grin fades to a grimace, though.  “At least you _get_ clothing.”

Oh, this is just getting better and better, “You mean you’ve got to…”

“Hand over my clothing along with yours? Yep.”

“Oh.”  And suddenly it’s not funny at all when it’s happening to her. “Sorry, Carter.”

“Well, it’s certainly not how I pictured it, but it was bound to happen sooner or later.”

Did she just… Could she have meant what I think she… “Um.  What?”

She blushes and I watch the blush disappear into her bra.  “Would you believe me if I told you I meant ending up naked on an alien planet?”

“Maybe if you hadn’t phrased the answer that way,” and I know I’m leering at her but she just told me it was inevitable that we were going to wind up getting down to brass tacks!

She strips her knife up my pant leg with more zeal than is strictly necessary.  And before I know it I’m shackled in front of her in white cotton jockey shorts. She’s eye level with my crotch so it’s not like she’s gonna miss how much I enjoy looking at her in her underwear, but I wasn’t expecting her to look up at me and quirk her eyebrow. That’s exactly how I explain what comes out of my mouth next.  “Well, tit for tat, Carter.  I’m down to my jockeys. Whatcha got?”

“ _Tit_ for tat?” she asks and all of a sudden I’m wishing she’d put down the knife.

“Okay,” I try to backpedal, “I honestly didn’t mean that the way it came out.”

She sighs.  “It’s not like we’re not both going to get an eyeful before this whole thing is over.  I mean, I don’t even _get_ clothes, but I’ve got to _tie_ your pants on. All the way up the legs.” She retrieves a long strip of leather. “With laces.”

This is really getting out of hand. And then it dawns on me that the pants are going to have to lace up the inseam too.   “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“Well, sir, you’re actually taking this a whole lot better than I thought you would.”

And then the knife is between the skin of my thigh and my shorts.  She looks up at me, “Now aren’t you glad I didn’t take my bra off?” And with two quick motions she slits my underwear up one side and down the other and by the look and feel of what’s going on down there I don’t think it would have mattered. Samantha Carter’s breathing on my dick. She could be wearing a burka for all it cares.

“Would you buy it if I told you it was my sidearm?”

“Didn’t buy it the first time, sir,” she says with a grin but has the good graces to turn away from me to grab the rest of the pants.

It takes her a moment to figure out how to get the laces started and the pants on my body when she’s only got her two hands. Let’s just say the solution involves her pulling leather through eyelets with her teeth.  Thank god she started at my hip.  By the time she gets to the crotch I contemplate telling her to just leave it open because there’s not a chance in hell anything’s going to be dangling but Carter’s hands brushing against my balls is sweet torture I don’t plan to pass up.

When she finally finishes the pants she stands and damn if she’s not quite steady on her feet.  The way her hands shake when she drapes the tunic over my head and laces up the sides make me wonder if I was a little too focused on my own desire.

“Carter?”

“Hmm?” she mumbles but turns away from me to straighten the knife on the table.

“Sam.”

She turns and meets my eye and what I see there is frightening.  She’s teetering on the edge of propriety, too.  “I’m not as uncomfortable with this as I should be, sir,” she says quietly.

“Look, I’ll close my eyes, you’ll take off the rest of your clothes and I’ll just keep my eyes closed until I _have_ to open them.”

“Thank you,” she says, “but that’s hardly a solution. And not the point.”

“I know.  But my options are limited here.”  I attempt to gesture and make my point as the shackles around my wrists rattle. “I can give you modesty, that’s about it.”

“Or you can give me safety.  You might not be much help in a fight right now, but an extra set of eyes never hurt anybody.”

“Famous last words,” I say and aim for levity. It ends up sounding a little more wistful than is really helpful.

“Sir, what possible reasons would they have for wanting us naked?”

“Well, I don’t think any of them are going to be good.”

“Neither do I.”

She picks up the clothing she cut off me and marches over to the door.  Then with a quick twist of her arms and shimmy of her shoulders her bra drops down to the ground and she’s stepping out of her panties in a smooth, practiced motion.

Just for the record, the male brain was not designed to process that much naked-Carter skin all at one time.

She pounds on the door and it swings open as if the person on the other side was waiting.  She thrusts the clothing into his hands, stands still and menacing as he appraises her so long I open my mouth to say something, then turns to me, almost defiantly when the door closes.  

She is insanely hot. 

She’s also impeccably groomed. Without her underwear, I’m drawn to little details like how her hair is exactly regulation length and how her toenails are painted a soft pink.

Oh, who the hell am I kidding? I notice that her nipples are the exact same shade as her lips and that she apparently has more than a passing relationship with a damn talented aesthetician. 

She crosses her arms under her breasts, hitches out a hip and raises an eyebrow.

“So, how about them Avalanche?”

She just huffs and turns away from me, stalking across the little room to the far wall.  I’ve always enjoyed watching the twitch of her ass cheeks as she walks away from me. This is _way_ better than it usually is.

But then she sits and all the usually-covered-up parts of her are hidden by her legs as she pulls them up tight to her body and rests her chin on her knees.  I don’t think I could fold up like that when I was _half_ her age.  But whatever. She can show off if she wants. This is still going down as the best worst day ever.

After that we wait silently.  I’m sure she’s trying to figure out what they want us for and how we can get out of this.  I’m just trying to figure out how to get her to come back over here without ruining everything for us once we get back home.

“For what it’s worth, Carter,” I finally say when it’s clear we’re just going to have to wait it out, “this isn’t exactly how I pictured it either.”

A hopeful but amused look flits across her face. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” I try to shrug it off, but it’s hard with my arms stretched up towards the ceiling.  “I always kind of thought one or the other of us would lose a bet with the Asgard.”

She laughs – all the embarrassment, worry and tension of the past hour, bubble up out of her.

And sure, Carter’s got a great rack. And getting to see parts of her I was probably never going to get to was a lot of fun. But she’s absolutely gorgeous when she laughs.


End file.
